“Oh dear, I am so sorry and ashamed,” answered Baucis, “but the truth is there is hardly another drop of milk in the pitcher.”

“Let me see,” said Mercury, starting up and catching hold of the handles, “why here is certainly more milk in the pitcher.”  He poured out a bowlful for himself and another for his companion.  Baucis could scarcely believe her eyes.  “I suppose I must have made a mistake,” she thought, “at any rate the pitcher must be empty now after filling both bowls twice over.”

“Excuse me, my kind hostess,” said Mercury in a little while, “but your milk is so good that I should very much like another bowlful.”

Now Baucis was perfectly sure that the pitcher was empty, and in order to show Mercury that there was not another drop in it, she held it upside down over his bowl.  What was her surprise when a stream of fresh milk fell bubbling into the bowl and overflowed on to the table, and the two snakes that were twisted round Mercury’s staff stretched out their heads and began to lap it up.

“And now, a slice of your brown loaf, pray Mother Baucis, and a little honey,” asked Mercury.

Baucis handed the loaf, and though it had been rather a hard and dry loaf when she and her husband ate some at tea-time, it was now as soft and new as if it had just come from the oven.  As to the honey, it had become the color of new gold and had the scent of a thousand flowers, and the small grapes in the bunch had grown larger and richer, and each one seemed bursting with ripe juice.

Although Baucis was a very simple old woman, she could not help thinking that there was something rather strange going on.  She sat down beside Philemon and told him in a whisper what she had seen.

“Did you ever hear anything so wonderful?” she asked.

“No, I never did,” answered Philemon, with a smile.  “I fear you have been in a dream, my dear old wife.”

He knew Baucis could not say what was untrue, but he thought that she had not noticed how much milk there had really been in the pitcher at first.  So when Mercury once more asked for a little milk, Philemon rose and lifted the pitcher himself.  He peeped in and saw that there was not a drop in it; then all at once a little white fountain gushed up from the bottom, and the pitcher was soon filled to the brim with delicious milk.

Philemon was so amazed that he nearly let the jug fall.  “Who are ye, wonder-working strangers?” he cried.

“Your guests, good Philemon, and your friends,” answered the elder traveler, “and may the pitcher never be empty for kind Baucis and yourself any more than for the hungry traveler.”

The old people did not like to ask any more questions; they gave the guests their own sleeping-room, and then they lay down on the hard floor in the kitchen.  It was long before they fell asleep, not because they thought how hard their bed was, but because there was so much to whisper to each other about the wonderful strangers and what they had done.